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Here we go again

The year, now past, will be a peculiar one to remember, mainly for being at odds with itself and everything in it, seemingly leaving events disconnect without a flow but being in a rush to pass nevertheless. An appreciation develops, as a result, of the ancient urge to be in command of time, which seems to slip in so freely and fleeting fashion, implying the possibility of certainty in the otherwise unpredictable.

Most definitely, some assurance would not go without appreciation concerning clear enough skies in and around the eight festivals of old to establish the point of sunrise and set, which remains the goal for yet another year. Although the exact point of sunset at the winter solstice was as elusive as before, at the third attempt and slightly delayed, the point of sunrise could be ascertained again, being at the foot of a mountain to the SE of Grianán, which appears to be Slievekirk. Below of which lies the nearly straight stretched back of Minkey Hill, the point to stand at sunset at the summer solstice to see the glorious but unfaithful disc like a halo behind the monument.

Sunrise December 26. Please click on image to enlarge.

Sunrise December 26. Making an appearance above the band of clouds.

Sunrise December 29. A mountain on fire.

Point of sunrise December 29.

Sunset December 25. Towards Barnes Mor Gap. The only evening with a chance but futile in the end.

As above.

With rain running down the window, distorting views, cold creeping in and presenting itself as one of the most miserable starts to any new year, one might easily wonder, where that may leave the rest. As always, somehow more expectations than hopes and wishes are inserted into a new year, which accordingly with more ancient timekeeping should be at least nine days old and not one.
The old year left me coming tantalising close to some completions yet out of reach by a hill, a by now not so unexpected invasion of clouds or a sudden disorder amongst the circumstances themselves. Too much from it remains to be undone, which would and should have been within the realm of possibility. And this one, I will not blame entirely on the weather. Resolving the matter of the dangling loose ends, carried over like an unnecessary, worn bundle, should be my aim for this year. But then, we always say such things at the beginning of the new. It seems to be a case of the endurance of our own neglect and how long we are prepared to carry it around with us as well as the wish that we should be less at odds with ourselves, improving the possibility of certainty in the otherwise unpredictable.

Bracing the sharpness of midwinter was not entirely in vain. As so often before great beauty flooded throughout the land and sky, although and despite this was not what I came for.